


Something Special

by felandaris



Series: Another Place And Time [14]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Sexual Situations, Awkwardness, Boobistair, Consensual Sex, Established Relationship, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Loss of Virginity, Modern Era, Nipple Play, Sexual Humor, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Virgin Alistair (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-07-29 19:14:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7696039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felandaris/pseuds/felandaris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years a couple, months of living together- they've waited long enough. And now Alistair and Regan each have a plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DualWieldingCousland (DualWieldingMama)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DualWieldingMama/gifts).



> This is a standalone piece set in Dualwieldingcousland's [Starting Over](http://archiveofourown.org/series/303090) verse. You'll be able to read this on its own but I highly recommend checking out these two dorks and their adventures.

_Perfect._ It was going to be just perfect.

 

At least so Alistair kept telling himself as he worked away; humming to himself while decorating the immaculately fluffy pizza base into a true work of art. Thin olive slices sat, covered by a rather generous layer of cheese in an unmistakeable heart shape. The ingenious idea filled his chest with pride. A sprinkle of delicate herbs, and-

 

“ _Ta-da!_ ”

 

In the oven his creation went. A quick check revealed his chocolate mousse to be scrumptious, the salad dressing light yet flavoursome and her favourite soda at impeccable temperature.

_What could possibly go wrong now?_

 

The dull thud of plastic bags hitting the ground behind him provided a possible answer. Alistair spun around, his mouth dropping open. Regan stood frozen into place, keys in hand, flabbergasted expression rivalling his own.

 

“Alistair…?” Genuine shock lay in her voice.

 

“Regan…?” Worry was winding its way into his stomach as his mind began to spin, imagining all possible ways he could have gone wrong. “What is it?” _Did he really want to know?_

 

“You’re cooking?” Rather than excitement, a wary frown accompanied her question.

 

“Pizza. Lots of olives and cheese, just how you like it,” Alistair offered sheepishly. As if to prove him right, a timid scent of baked goodness wafted around his nose.

 

Regan nodded, yet her expression remained bemused. “I made dinner reservations.”

 

Alistair gawked, dumbfouned. “You did?”

 

A slow nod. “At that new cheese fondue place.”

  
His heart sank, jaw following suit. She’d somehow, magically gotten a table at this perpetually booked-out joint- _for him, tonight?_

 

Reading his mind as seemed her habit, Regan answered his unspoken question, her gaze dropping. “It’s been a long week for both of us and I thought we could maybe,” a cautious flicker of her eyes towards his, “…do something a little special.”

 

A half-shake of his head and a quiet laugh. “That’s exactly what I’d thought.”

 

Regan stepped closer. “I’ll call them and cancel.”

 

“No!” Though his plea rang shriller than intended, Alistair was still serious. “Don’t cancel. You made probably pulled some favours to book this. We should go.”

  
Smiling, she took his hands in hers. “That’s right. I did book.” Alistair’s mouth opened, but Regan was quicker. “You, however, cooked an entire meal for us. Let’s stay in.”

 

He wanted to insist on going, on having pizza tomorrow, but again she cut him off, still wearing that knowing smile.

 

“I’m going to call them,” she reached for her phone, “and reschedule for Friday night- you’re off then, right? No buts,” she grinned, walking out into the hallway.

 

Alistair shook his head as he bent to check on how his pizza was faring. There was no arguing with Regan when she was determined.

 

“Changed to Friday,” Regan announced, not displeased with herself.

 

“Thank you, dearheart,” Alistair breathed a kiss onto her forehead then spotted the abandoned bags at her feet. “What’s in those?”

 

The sweetest idea of a flush crept across Regan’s nose. “I bought new clothes because I wanted the occasion to be,” another shy glance “special.”

 

For the first time tonight Alistair pondered whether Regan might mean the same kind of _special_ he’d had in mind. Before he’d finished the thought he was already scolding himself for such selfish presumptions.

 

“Well then,” he put on the cheese-print oven glove she’d gotten him. “Why don’t I finish up here while you get ready? I’ll get changed too and we’ll sit down to tackle this pizza.”

 

“Sounds like a plan,” Regan’s fingertips brushed past the back of his hand as she picked up her shopping. A glimpse of paper-wrapped fabric caught his curiosity as to how she might emerge.

 

“Right,” he cracked his knuckles as the door fell shut, throwing a challenging glance at the oven, which now gave off a more insistent aroma of crispy dough and hearty toppings.

 

Twenty minutes later the table was set, candles lit and Alistair dressed in trousers and shirt, checking whether said shirt was tucked in for the umpteenth time. Running a nervous hand through his hair he’d styled just enough to look like he hadn’t, he willed his eyes shut, forcing out a deep breath.

 

Timid footsteps from behind rendered all his efforts pointless. When Alistair spun around he gasped.

 

Black lace adorned Regan’s shoulders, describing an oval frame down to her chest, a delicate contrast on sallow skin. A satiny sheen tempted his gaze to wander below her waist where a knee-length denim skirt was hugging her hips- the type she only wore to occasions.

 

“You’re looking lovely.” Well-intended as it may have been, Alistair’s compliment didn’t help Regan’s nerves. Endearing pink returned to her cheeks- after two years together she was _still_ blushing. “Thank you,” her smile, small and a little proud, evoked one of his own. “Shall we sit down, then?” She seemed eager to diffuse the moment.

 

“Certainly.” Alistair hurried to pull back a chair for her to sit down. “Glass of wine, mylady? Or our house special of Peppered Healer?”

 

“I’m feeling adventurous. Both, please.”

 

A grin spanned Alistair’s face from ear to ear. “I knew you’d say that.”

 

Mellow tunes were put on, dishes served, and food enjoyed. Dinner conversation was pleasant; touching upon active work weeks, grazing the whereabouts of mutual friends, all while elegantly swerving around the druffalo in the room.

 

A hearty gulp of wine gave Regan enough courage to voice the question.

 

“So,” she appeared to be looking for answers amid pizza crumbs on her plate, “why _are_ we here?” Another, more cautious swig, holding on to the glass’ stem as if for confidence. “What’s the occasion?”

 

 _Why, dearheart, I was hoping tonight might indeed be the night_ , his cocky self answered- the part of him that so enjoyed hiding behind the bumbling, clueless fool who was now taking the stage.

“I-I guess-,” he spluttered, cursing himself for every half-human sound he emitted in the place of words- words which should have come as naturally as the idea of two people in love doing _that._ But none came, and Alistair found himself half-accepting the notion of _it_ never happening, given neither of them seemed able to initiate proceedings.

 

His surprise was all the greater when Regan suddenly stood before him. Squeezing her eyes shut, fists balled at her sides, she pressed out the words, quick and breathless. “We’re going to sleep together, aren’t we?”

 

Perpetuated silence loomed over the room as Regan lifted her lids one at a time. Alistair was hurt and humbled by how her eyes, her entire poise, bore that cruelly irrational fear of rejection.

 

It was his never-ending desire to care for her, to make her feel safe, that made him stand up at last, holding her stare as he took her hands in his.

 

“If you would like to, then yes.” He surprised himself with how good, how _right_ the words felt, and with how much her smile warmed his heart.

 

“I would very much like it,” relief shimmered in her hesitant gaze, and Alistair’s heart danced the most joyous of Remigolds. _She wanted it too. She did._

 

Whatever Regan was going to say next came out a giddy yelp when Alistair grabbed and swooped her, _all six feet of her_ , up into his arms. Once more he grinned like a fool, pressing a kiss atop her hairline.

 

“Let’s do this, shall we?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Regan make it past second base. Entering NSFW territory.

Alistair had never walked with more ease. Despite holding over 180 athletic pounds of woman he was floating, _dancing_ across the hallway. Regan’s hair tickled his chin, the lightest floral bouquet rousing a timid curiosity.

 

She echoed his sharp intake of air as the bedroom door creaked open to reveal-

 

“ _Jasper_!”

 

Nestled between fluffy cushions lounged their Mabari, shooting them a content glance.

 

Setting Regan down, Alistair put his hands to his hips. “Think that’s funny?” His brisk tone and stern gaze coaxed a tail waggle from Jasper, yet he didn’t flinch. “Out. _Now_ ,” Alistair hissed, his arm cutting through the air as he pointed at the door.

 

Wide eyes failed to guilt him into relenting as their mighty hound rolled off the bed, trotting towards the kitchen with a whimper. Alistair huffed, closing the door.

 

“I knew we’d forgotten something,” Regan voiced his thoughts, then went silent as she scanned the room. He watched her take in the sea of electric candles, fresh bedlinens and the scattering of rose petals.

 

On their own accord Alistair’s arms wrapped around her waist. “What do you think?”

 

“Just when did you do this?” she whispered, shaking her head.

 

He grinned against her ear _._ “Surprised you, did I?” Feather-light kisses up her neck had Regan shivering, leaning into his embrace.  Her hum, throatier than she may have intended, reminded him why they were here- and ended his ease.

 

Letting go as if she were on fire, Alistair scrambled for words, cursing himself and his inexperience. “So…,” a hapless swallow, “… what do we do now?”  


Facing him, she brought a shaky hand to his. “I guess we might sit on the bed,” a tentative tug at his wrist, “and maybe kiss?”

 

“Right-“ Regan sensed his hesitation, _of course she did_. The pull grew stronger and within a blink they were sitting beside each other on the mattress’ edge. Hand-hold became hug, and their noses rubbed. Though they’d kissed more often than he could count this was an all-new first time. Reluctant fingertips traced strands of hair, discovering its texture as their lips brushed against each other. The way Regan sighed into him, the shock of their tongues meeting, her flavour of soda and red wine- every impression held an innocence, an air of exploration.

 

Rising boldness allowed for a more demanding caress and Regan laid back into the cushions. Suddenly he was above her, torsos pressed together. Again his instinct bade him to retreat, but she caught his arms, pulling him fully onto her. Regan’s grip on his shoulders, her parted lips and the _look_ she threw him ended his inhibitions.

 

Hungry lips and playful tongues deepened their kiss. Hips began rolling, breaths lingered heavier and before Alistair knew his shirt came flying off. Had Regan’s touch been warm before, it was comfortably scorching now. Each hair, every mole she grazed prickled with excitement, and at last waned nerves permitted his arousal to stir.

 

He hadn’t expected Regan’s reaction. Upon noticing his predicament, she didn’t frown or pull away. Her eyes darkened and her pelvis rolled into his, seeking his heat, his hardness. Gone was her usual self-conscious reluctance and underneath him writhed a woman who _craved_ him.

 

Her motions, her scent had his head reeling, his heart singing. Down her neck he kissed, desperate to memorise each inch; hands wandering, groping, moulding, her every little sound stoking his pride and need.

 

Yet he was caught by surprise when she pulled her top over her head, leaving his face all but nestled into the black-lace rim of her bra- _and what was underneath._ Alistair swallowed.

 

“Regan…?”

 

Her determination outweighed his uncertainty as she placed his palm where collarbone became feminine swell. “I want this.” Patient as ever she watched him gawk at the pliant flesh under his fingers. Then she reached behind herself and all coherent thought evaded him.

 

“Dearheart?” _When had he closed his eyes?_ It didn’t matter, for when he opened them he was greeted by-

 

“ _Beautiful.”_ She was. Having studied his share of female chests, if mostly as part of online _research_ , he deemed himself familiar with their general appearance. _But Regan_ \- Regan was…

 

“…beautiful.”

 

“You said that.” Her smile deepened, the skin around her eyes crinkling.

 

Alistair bit his lip, whether for countenance or a reminder this was, in fact, happening. Insistent on not making himself a bigger fool, he pondered his next move. “May I?”

 

“Please,” she croaked, pressing down on the hand sitting atop her chest.

 

Alistair didn’t dare breathe as he traced the curve of Regan’s left breast. Dragging his index finger back and forth over the pale outline, he released a shuddering exhale, captivated by the pink bud in the centre- _precious and tempting._ Regan was panting harder with each quarter-inch he was nearing, though he barely heard it for the deafening drone of his pulse. When he reached her nipple it wasn’t with his hand.

 

Regan’s moan rang sweet and surprised when Alistair’s head swooped down, his entire face on her chest. On their own accord his lips fastened around her peak and sucked it in.

 

Regan tasted of salt, skin and cleanliness. Instinct had Alistair palming her other breast, moulding it he suckled her like he’d never done anything else.

 

The feel of her on his tongue, her peak’s stiffness in his mouth was heavenly on its own. But it was the _sounds_ she made that drove him. A throaty _oh_ as his _tongue_ swirled around her; a hum when he sucked her in deeper. And when he dared to scrape with his teeth she said, no, _sang_ his name. Three syllables, deep as their affection, thick as the lust clouding his senses.

 

Her body was demanding more of him, hips grinding up with feverish insistence, legs wrapping around his. Alistair whined, _actually whined_ , when he unlatched himself from his love. At this point candles and rose petals had to suffice for romantic gestures. Regan’s bottoms came off first, revealing black lace under-thingies that called for his hands. He swiped over the delicate fabric, traced intricate patterns, so fascinated only her gasp alerted him to the fact he was doing something else, too. Alistair peeked up to find Regan staring at where his index finger sat on her underpants. Understanding set in along with greed, and he pressed down, his digit sinking into soft, fragrant warmth.

 

“ _Oh_ ,” her sigh had his heart beating faster, his groin twitching. He traced upwards along her centre, encountering a hardness. She moaned then, pushing into his caress. His palm cupped her and she rocked, rubbing her sex against him; groaning and squirming in between cushions and roses.

 

So frantic were her movements, Alistair never noticed the fabric slipping. It took him one, two rubs to realise he was no longer touching upon lace but skin, damp and- _smooth._

 

He stilled, and his gaze found hers. Regan’s smile was bashful, yet pride lingered in her eyes.

 

“Do you like it?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regan. Alistair. Doing the deed. At last.

 

_Did he like it?_

 

The bashful innocence in Regan’s question taunted his male instincts. Tension released in a growl, drowning out her surprised yelp as black lace slid down creamy thighs.

 

Again Alistair stilled, if only to comprehend what was happening. Bathed in fluttering shadow, stretched out on satin sheets, was his woman, his love of almost two years, his partner in life. Arms angled beside her head, hips stuck out to one side, she was sprawled out before him, hooded stare beckoning.

 

Alistair’s lips found hers in a tender half-touch, a second’s peck to spark more appetite. Regan reached for him with her mouth, her arms and legs, but he moved on, relishing her frustrated groan. He traversed down her neck, tracing its graceful curve; curious nose trailing down defined shoulders, tickling a shiver from firm biceps; teasing waiting breasts. Reverie and budding confidence fuelled assertive pressure and inspired many an incredulous glance.

 

Once his explorations had brought him to Regan’s toned tummy, Alistair grinned on a sudden whim. Ignoring Regan’s impatient hum, he gave each defined set of muscles its due attention before snaking on to his true target

 

Her belly button sat dark and invitingly round, calling for a swift move. Shock had Regan gasping, her head lifting when Alistair’s face lowered. Her question evaporated into a laugh when he blew, creating a sloppy raspberry of a noise. Regan kicked, giggled and fought for breath as he blew again, and once more.

 

A few minutes of cackles and sore tummies later they quietened down, Alistair’s face resting on her abdomen. Regan’s fingers grasped tousled strands of ginger, and he allowed her soothing strokes until-

 

“Maker!” he shot up, wide eyes settling on where he’d been lying. Where his chin, his goatee stubble had rubbed upon smooth, hairless skin.

 

Alistair stared at Regan’s bare centre, the sight bringing back her question.

 

“Yes,” a parched affirmation, “I like it.” As the words dripped off suddenly dry lips his eyes crept up to meet hers.

 

But Regan wouldn’t have been Regan if she hadn’t sensed his hesitation. All she need to reassure him was a caring palm cupping his cheek and a little grin.

 

Alistair’s hand moved an inch per heartbeat. He hadn’t realised how rough his fingertips were until they slid down the silken warmth of her feminine mound. A shudder surged through them both, but this time he wasn’t held back.

 

Regan was all exposed under his palm, no lace or shame between them. Alistair’s stare never left hers as his finger snuck out. Brushing over one plump lip, he had to remember breathing as the delicate outlines of her sex, of her holiest, passed by under his touch. Down he went then up on the other side, studying her reaction; the pinch of her brow, her mouth’s silent _o_ and her eyes struggling to stay open.

 

His index finger grazed the hard bud at the top, and Regan quivered, her midriff curling. Power rushed through him, prompting another rub and a squeeze. Regan’s voice rang smooth, deep from her core.

 

“ _Oh!_ ”

 

Alistair echoed the enunciation, albeit with his mouth full. A dreamy instant later he realised he’d latched on to Regan’s breast. Any porn-fuelled preconceptions evaporated as he let his woman guide him.. Together the lovers moaned and writhed, Alistair into Regan’s warm form and she beneath him, seeking to meet his every move.

 

Then he followed an impulse. A finger dipped lower, _inside her_ , for a brazen second.

 

“Look at me, Regan,” he grunted, dizzy with lust. Her breast slipped from his lips while he spread musky slick around her nub, his head tilting sideways and eyes narrowing.

 

Regan’s head fell back, her chest heaving and fingers digging into Alistair’s back. Incapable of stopping, he played with her hard nubbin; stroking its tip, rubbing from either side, even catching it between the pink folds.

 

Alistair didn’t stop when Regan’s thighs started trembling and her nails scraped a sharp line down his spine. He carried on when her pelvis lifted, her spine arched and the most alluring mewl poured from her. And he continued, mouth hanging open, as she _floated_ for a surreal moment, lost in her pleasure and his caress.

 

Only when she sank into the pillows, breathless and flushed, did his hand still, his breath catch in awe- and shock.

 

“Regan…?”

 

Electric candlelight illustrated the tear’s glistening trail down her cheek before the pillow absorbed it.

 

“Dearheart, are you all right?” Concern knit into his brow and voice.

 

Regan nodded, wiping her face and chuckling to herself. Either the dim flicker was playing tricks or her blush deepened.

 

“That was a first,” she slurred.

 

Dumbfounded, Alistair gawked. His question stuck in his throat, heartbeat quickening when realisation set in.

 

“You mean-“ wide eyes darted towards where he’d caressed her.

 

Her answer was a warm hand pulling him in for a kiss, languid and sweet. Regan’s admission, her embrace, sent a hot tingle spiralling through Alistair, an intoxicating concoction of pride, desire and something else.

 

_Love._

 

When they broke Regan’s lips were swollen and her smile wide. Alistair recognised his cue. Gaze glued to his love’s, he fumbled with his trousers where his arousal was demanding attention.

 

Regan’s tongue snuck out as she peeked at where linen and spandex slipped down Alistair’s legs to reveal him, bare as she was. Cool air crept across his midriff, and he swallowed when Regan remained silent.

 

“Is it… all right?” The words tasted metallic.

 

To his bewilderment Regan simply nodded, not taking her eyes off him. “Trust me,” she cocked a brow, “it’s more than all right.”

 

Relief and a hint of smugness had Alistair chuckling, leaning in. “Is it now?” He stroked a lock from Regan’s forehead, both of them gasping when his erection brushed against her stomach. His head spun, and the drawer blurred as he reached inside to retrieve a small foil parcel. He pulled to open it where the markings indicated. Nothing happened. Another tug, still no give. Sighing, Alistair turned the square to try from a different angle, but to no avail. When he took it between his teeth Regan intervened.

 

“Why don’t I give it a shot?” Taking the package from him, she straightened it out then tore it open without so much as batting a lash. Before Alistair had a chance to huff at himself, her hands were above his crotch, holding the condom over him.

 

All air left his lungs when her fingers touched his length, evoking a heavy throb. Regan’s teeth worried her bottom lip as she rolled it out then ran a finger down his shaft when he was fully covered.

 

As soon as her gaze lifted Alistair was on her, swallowing her squeal, weighing down on her with his mouth, hands, his being. Regan lay back, her legs wrapping around his shins, the acute closeness of their naked, breathing skin both intoxicating and terrifying.

 

Breaking the kiss, Alistair rubbed his nose against Regan’s in their own little gesture. As her heat called for him his treacherous mind intruded yet again. Faces, voices flashed before him- Temmerly, Braden, Nathaniel, determined to crush any timid confidence.

 

But Regan, his love, his saint, took his hand, placing it on her chest. “I’m here with you,” she croaked, eyes shimmering, “and with you only.”

 

Grateful for her composure, for _her_ , Alistair swallowed a sob as his brow knit with emotion, thumb drawing idle circles on her chest. A shaky hand snuck south, and he grabbed hold of himself. Alistair’s heart thrummed, every beat bringing up a dear memory; _his first sight of Regan; asking her out; the rose_.

 

And then the tip of him grazed her, and they sighed. Alistair paused, but Regan nodded, vehemently, and his hips rolled. He _sunk_ inside, inch by wondrous inch. Alistair knew about the act’s mechanics, the _ins and outs_. He had a fair idea of the movement, the biology of what they were about to engage in. What struck him so marvellously, what he couldn’t have foreseen, was the way her pelvis arched into his with every motion, the gentle bounce of her breasts; the shimmer of her fanned-out hair.

 

“Regan,” he pressed out, “I don’t think this will last long.”

 

Regan’s smile bore all her warmth, her kindness, everything he loved her for. “Don’t worry,” her hips pushed into his, and thought evaded Alistair with the last of his inhibitions.

 

Instincts kicked in, his motions natural and fluent as he gave Regan his body, allowed her into his soul. A rhythm of hushed moans and wet slaps built along with an earthy scent, the perfect complement to Regan’s poise, her beauty she never saw.

 

Somewhere between a kiss and a lustful groan a delightful pressure grew deep inside him. He let go then, his head falling to the crook of her neck as he cried out, spilling and twitching and far too happy. The bed, the room and the evening faded, and all that remained was blissful clarity and Regan’s smile.

 

When Alistair regained his senses he was slumped over her torso, flinching when he realised he was crushing her under his weight. But she held him in place, cooing into his ear the sweetest, most intimate words.

 

A small eternity later they’d shifted, her head on his chest, playing with tufts of ginger while she purred at his fingers combing through her own hair.

 

“So,” the mere sensation of Regan purring on his bare skin had Alistair’s heart jumping, “another date night on Friday?”

 

He hummed his agreement then opened his eyes as a thought struck him. “We won’t have to wait until then to do this again, though…?”

 

And Regan giggled, shuffling up to catch his lips in a kiss.

 

“No, silly,” she beamed, “we don’t.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> [Find me (and the boys) on Tumblr!](https://http://cullenstairshenanigans.t%20Tumblr.com) ʘ‿ʘ


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